All the Good Times
by whatabeautifulday23
Summary: Running had never been something Clementine Jones had particularly enjoyed, but she never expected to flee halfway around the world to escape her past. But sometimes when your demons refuse to back down, it's all you can do. Isolated, Clementine tries to lead a quiet life, waking from her nightmares and trying to live a normal, half-hearted life. (Summary continued inside)
1. Prologue

**Running had never been something Clementine Jones had particularly enjoyed, but she never expected to flee halfway around the world to escape her past. But sometimes when your demons refuse to back down, it's all you can do. Isolated, Clementine tries to lead a quiet life, waking from her nightmares and trying to live a normal, half-hearted life. And then she meets Niall Horan - popstar, internationally famous, just-released-a-new-song Niall Horan. And all her secrets, all her guilt, is blown wide open.**

May, 2016.

Anxiety had my fingers bouncing; off of my thigh, off of my other hand, off of the purple rolling suitcase situated next to me. In front of me, the security line waited with the promise of a new life, a new start. At the same time, my head felt thick, and full: everything comprehended a second too slow. I reacted to sounds a second too late. I felt dizzy, even standing still. My eyes were already watering. Maybe that was why everything looked so blurry.

Behind me stood the last remnants of a terrible, life-altering three months. Behind me stood the other baggage threatening to bring me down.

Jamie took a step closer, standing close enough to brush her arm against my own. "The kids made you a goodbye card," she said softly, and passed a construction-paper mess of drawings, words, and glitter into my hand.

Behind her, my mom cleared her throat. "Those poor kids. Clementine, they'll miss you so much. You don't have to go." Jamie frowned, the worry lines on her face tightening. She and my mom seemed to have been avoiding each other, distant when they used to be so close. It was easy to know why: Jamie supported me leaving, and Mom was fighting like hell to keep me here.

The card in my hand was like a weight, pulling me back to my life here. I opened it, and a puff of purple glitter floated down onto the white-tiled floor.

"Love you Clem! Have a nice vacation!" the card read in messy handwriting, and I winced. They were a bit too young to really understand that this move would be permanent, that I wasn't coming back. It would crush them when they finally realized it.

I choked back a sob. "I can't stay here. You know that," I whispered softly to Jamie, glancing up at her as her face blurred. Mom huffed behind me, and took a few steps forward and grabbed my wrist, her fingers closing around it like handcuffs, chaining me to her.

"You can stay here, Clementine. You're wasting all of your time, going off like this. You're wasting your scholarship money, _my_ money, and _your_ degree."

"The degree I barely got." I managed to whisper, and under normal circumstances, this would have riled my mom up further, but she softened. Norma Jones, whatever else you could say about her, understood grief. She understood it, was burdened by it much like I was, but she was like a rock anchored in a stormy sea, while I drowned next to her.

She patted my arm, the touch firm, controlling. Like she owned me. "You still got it. You still can go out into the world and _make_ something of yourself."

But Mom didn't get it. Maybe the person she had been when her husband, my father, died, but she had grown and changed because of that, and I was buried six feet underground next to Jack.

 _Jack_.

The name clanged around inside of my head. I rolled my shoulders back, straightened my spine.

 _Jack_.

"I can't stay here. Not when I see Jack everywhere I go, not when I wake up and remember everything about him and wonder why I did what I did, said what I said. I am _drowning_ here; I may as well tie a cinder block to my ankle and leap into the Manatee River, because I will _die_ if I stay here."

I was panting, shocked by my own admission, but I knew deep down that it was true. "I'm barely sober, Mom. I tried to drink myself to death. You know it. I can't be here anymore."

My mom's hazel eyes hardened and stepped back from me, her calloused hand slipping from my arm. She straightened, her posture matching mine, and looked me dead in the eye. "Then you are no daughter of mine. No daughter of mine would be such a _waste_. My daughter died alongside her best friend, on a lonely road by the river."

The words crystallized and broke inside me as my mom, the woman who had always supported my dreams, who had been there for every milestone, every achievement, walked away from me.

But she was right. That daughter had died next to Jack, was buried next to him. Maybe it was easier this way.

She couldn't mourn the fact that I was leaving when I was dead to her.

That goodbye was brutal and painful, but there was only one person left to say goodbye to now. I've already said goodbye to my house, where I've lived all my life; Bradenton, my hometown; Florida in general, and the humidity in particular.

I turned to Jamie who, judging by the flare of her nostrils and the wide set to her eyes, was livid. Before she could say anything about me or Mom, I wrapped my arms around her and hugged tight. "Bye," I whispered, settling into her quiet warmth and strength. "Thank you for helping me go."

I felt the brush of her lips against my forehead, a caring mother always, and then I pulled away. "Thank you. Goodbye."

I waved and walked away from my cousin, trying to ignore the burn in my eyes as I entered the security line. It was better this way. They would suffer less without watching me drown in myself.

Guilt is a funny thing. There are days where I'm strong and clear-headed and I know it wasn't _entirely_ my fault that Jack died. And other days I couldn't leave the house, so encumbered as I was with the knowledge that his death was my fault. Some days I soared, and other days, most days, I sunk.

Security passed by in a blur. My body was on autopilot, but my mind was weighted down. I couldn't focus on anything, faces and bodies sliding across my line of sight. No one stuck out.

It seemed like only seconds after saying goodbye to Jamie that I was sitting on my seat on the plane, A14, with no recollection of how I had gotten there. The boarding pass in my hand was crumpled a little, worn from my handling.

I turned to the window, and let my head rest against the seat as I stared out of it, at the gray morning light streaming down from the sky. A storm was rolling in.

I was going.

My eyes closed, and a few tears slipped out, burning down my cheeks.

This was it. There was no turning back now.


	2. Chapter 1

" _ **In a while now I will feel better,**_

 _ **I'll face the weather before me.**_

 _ **In a while now I'll race the irony,**_

 _ **And buy back each word of my eulogy."**_

 _ **Amaryllis, Shinedown**_

November 24th, 2016

 _I was speeding down a dark road, the only light emanating from my headlights, lighting up dark, blurry trees as I zoomed past them. It was raining, drops hitting the roof of my car with a frightening intensity. Lightning flashed, lighting up Manatee River to the right of my car. There were waves on the surface of the river, dark and rolling and frothing with white caps. The resounding thunder shook me in my seat._

 _My eyes flicked from the river and back to the road. My hands shook on the wheel, almost to the point where I couldn't drive in a straight line due to the jerking. I felt numb. Empty._

 _All of a sudden I noticed another car driving down the opposite side of the road towards me. The headlights were flashing into my eyes and I started to feel quite dizzy, my head spinning. Without even fully realizing it, I started to swerve toward those headlights. My eyes narrowed. My foot pressed the gas pedal all the way down._

 _There was no going back._

BANG!

My eyes jerked open, my body twisting under the blankets, filled with the need to escape, to run away, to run far, far away. But a sudden stillness came over me, and I dimly realized that the alarm I had set on my phone was ringing, a dull, incessant clang that hurt my ears.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

I was shaking as I reached over to the night table by my bed and grabbed my phone, pulling it back under the covers with me, not ready to face reality. The bright light of my phone made me squint, but even so, I managed to silence the annoying ringing. 4:30PM, right on the dot.

Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately, given my current state of mind - I couldn't afford to go back to my nap. I had a job to be at by six, and I needed to get dressed and figure out something decent to do with my hair. So even though all I wanted to do was crawl back under my quilt and fall back into a deep sleep (and not move for an eternity), I heaved myself out of bed and padded across the wooden floor of my bedroom into the tiny bathroom attached to it.

While brushing my teeth, my eyes flicked over my worn reflection in the mirror. My red hair was messy and tangled, in need of a thorough brushing. My blue eyes were tired-looking, dull, and the skin under them was tainted a deep, bruised color of blue-black. I didn't look particularly welcoming or even awake (in fact, I looked like death's incarnate), but that would change when I stepped up onto the small stage at the back of the bar. It always did.

With my teeth clean and my breath fresh, I felt good enough to pull on my black dress. It was short, coming to about mid-thigh, and sleeveless. It clung close to my body but not overly so, and with a pair of black tights, looked nice and professional. I slipped it on and zipped it up, straining slightly to reach the zipper. I had gotten pretty good at zipping up dresses by myself in the recent months since I moved here.

Once I was dressed I grabbed my hairbrush and roughly ran it through my tangled hair. While brushing my hair, I slipped my black flats on to my feet and returned to the bathroom. Making eye contact with my reflection, I smiled. My hair looked much better. _I_ looked much better, and my dream had been pushed to the back of my mind, where it belonged.

Even there, though, it lingered, threatening to pull me back into the deep. But I wouldn't allow it. At least, not while I was at work.

As they say, fake it till you make it.

I pulled the hair out of my hairbrush and neatly deposited it into the trash can, and then set the brush down on the sink counter. I applied some mascara, and that was it – I couldn't wear any lip gloss for my particular career.

By the time I was finished primping (read: making myself look like a decent human being), it was 5:30PM, and time for me to head out. I wish I could say it took less time, but there may have been a cup of coffee or two involved.

I grabbed my trumpet case and headed to the front door of my apartment, swinging it open and jogging carefully down the flight of stairs. I opened the door in front of me, at the bottom of the stairwell, and stepped into a cozy, colorful shop called Just Books.

Carra, her thin lips curled up into a grin, waved at me from behind the cash register. She and her husband, Nathan, ran Just Books. They were an older couple, Carra in her mid-forties, Nathan a little older, and their book store was simply lovely. They had a window display with the newest releases, and tons of bookshelves carrying everything from psychic books to fantasy novels. The walls were a light yellow, conveying openness and warmth to the customers.

It was a place I liked to spend a good amount of time browsing. Reading was a hobby of mine.

They had an apartment in the back of the shop with a small bedroom and a kitchen and bathroom. Nathan said that that was all they needed, and that the apartment upstairs was going to waste. The extra money would be good for them. And that's how I popped into their lives, more or less.

"How are the O'Sullivan's doing tonight?" I stopped by the register since no one was up there except Carra.

Carra leaned on her elbows and gave me a bored sigh, her lips pouting out a bit. Her light brown hair was tucked into a messy bun with strands spilling out at the edges. It was staring to gray, and I briefly wondered if it had anything to do with her rather eccentric husband. "Nathan ran out to buy some eggs, seeing as the bugger forgot them when he went out this morning. Useless, that one."

I smiled, used to the terms of endearment. "Aw, but you love him."

Carra rolled her eyes at me, lips curled up slightly. "Unfortunately." She cleared her throat, straightening as the bell above the door rang. She plastered on a winning smiling, turning it on the mildly frightened-looking teenager that was stood frozen in the doorway. "Welcome to Just Books! If you need any help, love, just call me on over." With that said, she turned back to me. "Heading off to work now, Clem?"

"You got it," I replied easily, shifting my trumpet case into my other hand and running my fingers through my hair. Work made me confidence soar. "Gotta go bust my face, like every night."

Carra laughed, a light, tinkling sound. "Make sure you…what is it you call it? 'Warm down'?"

I rolled my eyes playfully, biting down into my lip. "Yep. Warming down is an essential part of every performance. You can ruin your chops if you don't do it. _Especially_ if you play a brass instrument."

In my sophomore year of high school, during marching season, we played so much and so hard that in most rehearsals, my lips were done in just from warming up.

She scrunched up her nose. "I still don't understand any of that."

I sighed dramatically. While Carra and I could chat about books for hours upon hours, music was my world, and she didn't want a part of it. It was easy to listen to music, but it was different to actually _understand_ it. "You don't have to."

Carra stretched slowly, lips parted to respond, but the bell chimed once again. Plastering that same customer-worthy smile on, she turned to the door, only for it to abruptly fade. Her husband was back, egg carton in hand. "Look at that tosser. Just walks in the bloody front door with those eggs like he lives here."

I bit my lip again. "He does live here, Carra. Unless you're getting divorced and you kicked him out."

Carra snorted. "I'm much too fond of him to do that. Nathan! Go put those back in the fridge," she called sharply, rolling her eyes. Nathan waved at me and winked at his wife, not very put out with her tone, and she uncharacteristically smiled shyly back.

I felt a brief pang in my chest, seeing easy love like that. While they bickered often – or, rather, Carra bickered at Nathan, and he listened – it was obvious that they really loved each other. It was obvious by the way Nathan doted on his feisty wife; by the way she smiled at him when she thought no one was looking. It was beautiful. "Well. Better be going."

Carra turned back to me, husband momentarily forgotten. "Aren't you playing Queen tonight at the bar?"

I grinned, the thought of music once again soothing the ache in my chest. I was rather partial to Queen, since in my senior year of high school, we marched the band's music. "We are indeed."

Carra smiled. "Maybe I'll come over after closing up the store. See you! Be safe!"

With a wave, I headed out the front door of the store. I walked to the bike stand nearby and pulled it free. Normally I took it out back behind the building, but I had gone to the grocery store today, so I had left it out front afterwards. Carra had promised to watch it for me while I napped.

I put my trumpet case in the basket attached to the front, and got on, clutching the bottom of my dress to keep it down so I didn't accidentally flash a passerby. Without another second wasted, I pushed off and started peddling. Riding a bike in a dress wasn't ideal, but I had tights on, so I wasn't too worried.

It was rather cold out, but I hadn't thought to bring a jacket, so I spent my bike ride cursing my own choices. It was winter. Why hadn't I brought a jacket?

It hadn't snowed yet today, but the sky looked rather threatening, cold and gray with dark clouds (though I'm not an expert on snow, coming from a warmer part of the world). It would probably snow before my shift was over, which was rather unfortunate. I had a feeling that I would hate riding my bike in the snow.

I didn't really have the money to buy a car and pay for it each month. Besides, riding my bike everywhere kept me in shape, kind of. It was a bit of a hassle at times, especially when I went grocery shopping, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

The Chambers was located at 44th Mount Street. It was just north of the Westmeath County Council, and near the Mullingar Town Park. It was rather conveniently close to Just Books, which did make my life easier. It also had a lot to do with why I decided to move into the apartment above the bookstore. Before that, I was living in a cheap hotel room just across the road. Thankfully, that lasted only for a week after moving here from across the ocean.

The Chambers was a bar and lounge, and a good place to stop for a pint, so it was often filled with both tourists and locals alike. Inside, a bar counter dominated the back wall with barstools aplenty. There were booths and tables tucked to the side and into the middle, and on the left, a small stage for music. I played with a couple of other people most nights of the week.

I pulled up behind the bar and locked my bike in the rack. I grabbed the handle of my case and walked in through the back door, shutting it behind me.

Marley immediately shot her eyes to me and waved me over. Her neon pink bangs were covering her eyes, causing her to scowl and shove them dramatically away. While Marley looked rather punk, with her bright pink bangs, multiple ear piercings and a super cute nose piercing, she was into the jazz scene, and an exceptional saxophonist. Somehow, in her twenty-four years of life, she had basically mastered the alto, tenor, and baritone sax. (Well, she took a multitude of lessons with multiple tutors, and practiced basically non-stop for many years. In other words, Marley Deavux was a goddess).

"Come on, Clem, we go on at 6:30. You've got half an hour to warm up." Marley spoke around the reed in her mouth, somehow managing to frown at me rather thoroughly.

That was it. Not even a hello. Marley was a no-nonsense type of gal, something I definitely appreciated and could agree with on a personal level. Sure, talking and laughing was fun during rehearsals, but you needed to actually rehearse before you could afford that luxury.

I gave her a quick business-like nod as I walked smoothly to the back room. "You got it, Marley."

Conor, our drummer, was goofing off with Dean, the trombonist, the two of them laughing as I walked up. "Hey, Clem!" They chorused together, and I waved at them.

"Make sure you warm up," I called out as I took my silver Yamaha trumpet out and started to buzz on my mouthpiece. It was mostly directed at Dean, since he, like me, was a brass player, and needed his mouth warmed up to play his instrument. Conor, on the other hand, did not need to warm up his mouth, and was therefore out of my jurisdiction.

"Aye aye, captain." Conor saluted me and shoved Dean back from him before starting his own warming up process on the drum set. Dean rolled his eyes at me but smiled all the same and grabbed his trombone from where he had set it on the floor. He was lucky he didn't step on it. A drum major my sophomore year kicked a baritone while jazz running backwards once, and he left a huge dent in the rim. Then he ran four laps of shame. It was a sad day. One of my fellow trumpeters played Taps while he ran the laps.

As I buzzed out long notes on my mouth piece, I let my mind wander over my coworkers. Really, they were more than coworkers; another version of family, even though I only saw them at work and rejected every offer to take me out and show me Mullingar. They were still a constant in my life, same as Nathan and Carra.

I definitely needed more constants in my life.

Conor was tapping on his drum set, red curls bowed in serious concentration. Marley used to joke that Conor and I were secret siblings, but his eyes were green, and he was clearly Irish, while I had moved here from America only a few months ago. Conor liked to take the joke pretty far and call me "sis", but I shut that down pretty quickly each time he tried.

Lost in thought and concentrating on warming up, I didn't realize Dean was saying my name until he tapped my shoulder, his hand warm on my skin. "Clementine, Marley wants us to run through the pieces in a little bit."

I nodded and stuck my mouth piece in to my trumpet and ran through a few scales and old marching band exercises, until I was confident that I was warmed up enough. Then, I stood between Dean and Marley, and awaited directions.

Conor and I watched Marley with cool readiness while Dean looked at her like an eager puppy expecting a treat and a head-scratch. He watched her every movement, and revered the words that flowed past her lips, even as mean-spirited as they could be.

Dean's crush on Marley was rather obvious, but Conor and I weren't so sure that Marley knew about it. I wasn't even sure if Marley liked him back. Dean was definitely good looking, with brown, supple skin and just enough stubble to look ruggedly handsome. His brown eyes were puppy-dog like. All he had to do was pout his bottom lip out and give you the right look, and you would find yourself ready to give him whatever he wanted.

But relationships were complicated, and I definitely wasn't going to get involved. That's what I told myself every night before bed, and every day when I woke up. _Things will be okay, Clem. Things are just complicated. Relationships are complicated. Best not to meddle._

It didn't help much when it came to the guilt, but telling myself about my past complications sometimes helped me focus through my grief, although it didn't with my conscience. Also, concentrating on other people's relationships could be enough of a distraction, even when not meddling.

Marley tapped off with her foot, and we quietly ran through our music pieces, just in time to take a small break before heading out onto the stage. "Get some water before you go on stage, guys." I reminded everyone before taking a long drink from my own water bottle.

"Yes, Miss Brass Captain." Conor and Dean chorused together, right on schedule. I smiled even as I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I regretted telling them about my leadership days in marching band, but they definitely helped me land this job. Marley was incredibly picky with who she allowed in. I had to pass sight-reading tests and show off my range, multiple times, to prove that I wasn't a fluke. Maybe that was why we still didn't have anyone to play guitar.

"We've got a bigger crowd tonight," Marley commented, eyeing us over the rim of her water bottle. "Anyone know if there's something sporty and important going on?"

The three of us shrugged. We weren't the sports type.

"Thanks, you useless lot."

I snorted and helped Conor move his drum set out onto the little stage, being careful not to flash anyone in my short dress, even with the tights on. We carried it to the back right corner of the stage, moving it to be facing the middle of the bar. None of the customers really paid us any mind, focusing on their drinks and whatever was going on television-wise. No one really paid us any attention until we started playing.

Marley sharply nudged her head at Dean and me, so we quickly fell into our playing spots. I kept a careful middle distance, because during solo's, the soloist will take a step forward. I've been stepped on by sharp, pointy heels, and I've learned from it.

"A one, two, three," Marley crooned after eyeing the TV, taking a deep breath on four, and coming in on one. Marley and Conor led the way, starting a smooth jazz piece. We would warm up to Queen.

We were careful to play only during commercials. The owner of The Crossbar, Henry Conningham, warned us about the people here and their love of sports and hatred to all those who got in the way of such sports. "Let me tell you somethin', darlin's; the people here, they want their beer, and they want their damn sports. But they'll be more than happy to watch and listen during the commercials. And after the game is done? Whew, they'll be-a ready for action."

I took his words to heart, remembering my one experiences with football in America.

After playing six mellower pieces, Marley let us take a break. I kept my trumpet in my hand as I walked to the bar to get some water (I had run out. Hydration is important); I didn't like the idea of leaving it on the actual stage, and sometimes we had to move very quickly to get back onto the stage to perform, so putting it in the back was a no-go.

At the bar, patrons scooted over on their stools good-naturedly to give me some space. I caught the bartender Kenny's attention, and asked for a quick sip. He passed the glass of water to me with ease, already prepared for my request. I smiled my thanks and took a long, slow sip, enjoying the refreshing coolness of the water going down my throat.

While I was sitting and sipping on my water, a couple of the bar patrons complimented me on the performance.

"You sure have 'ot some skill for such a youn' lady," a grizzled old man commented, patting his gnarled hand on the bar counter. "Why, I bet you's been playin' for years."

I nodded. "I've been playing since I was in fourth grade," I said, and upon seeing the puzzled frown on his face, I quickly added, "About since I was nine."

I had forgotten about their different school systems here. Everything was different here, because America was still so stubbornly American. I had to Google a temperature converter every time the weather came on.

"Ya, she sure can blow that horn. I wonder what else she can blow, hmm?"

The words, spoken in a low, creeping whisper, sent a chill down my spine. I didn't even want to turn around to see who had uttered those rather disgusting, inappropriate words. The old man next to me tossed his hand up and shook his head, probably trying to convey that whomever it was, it was best not to bother with them.

But I was a fan of bothering with things, so I turned around on my stool, crossing my ankles neatly and plastering a smile as cold as ice across my lips.

The offender was older, rounder, greasier, and leering at me with worm-thick lips. His teeth were incredibly yellow compared to the pale flesh of his face. His thick, black hair was smoothed back with way too much hair gel. Seeing that he had my attention, he winked at me with a pale, watery-blue eye.

"You wanna see how I blow?" I purred at him, smooth as velvet-covered steel, and the idiot fell for it. He lapped up my supposed attention and cockily stepped forward so he was right up in my personal space, thighs pressed to my knees.

"Give me a time and place, baby, I'm all yours."

With a nasty grin at me, he mimed thrusting his hips, his quivering skin coming closer to an area I definitely did _not_ want him near.

"Let me give you a show." I lowered my voice and licked my lips, my eyes flicking up and down his pudgy form. Then, I pursed my lips and buzzed like I would on my horn. Spit went flying into his face and he yowled, stumbling back, cursing as he wiped my spit from his face.

"What a fuckin' whore!" He shouted, jabbing a thick finger at my nose. The bar went quiet, and I _felt_ the attention shifting this way. I felt anger rise quickly up inside me, red-hot and burning. "A tease, that's what this little slut is! Disgusting."

I parted my lips to tear this asshole apart, but someone interrupted and beat me to it.

"Hey, you absolute fuckin' wanker, leave the girl alone. I think it's rather obvious she doesn't want anything to do with you. Leave the lady be." The voice was deep, rumbling from the speaker's chest like a growl from a lion. I turned my attention to him as the disgusting human being in front of me emitted his own considerably weaker growl, waved his hand in the air to signal that I wasn't worth it, and stalked off.

I had already forgotten about him.

The man in front of me was broad-shouldered, arms crossed over his chest, one hand clutching a half-full pint, and had a deadly scowl on his face. He was thin, lean, his large shoulders tapering down to a narrower waist, but looked strong enough to hold his own. Judging from the way his shirt clung to his arms, he could pack a punch.

The scowl melted off his face as soon as the other man left, as easily as dropping a mask. He turned piercing blue eyes on me, a wide smile forming almost immediately, and I couldn't help but notice the blonde curls sneaking out from under the gray newsboy cap he had on. I couldn't help but notice the way the dark green, long-sleeved shirt he had on clung to his chest even more than it did to his arms.

Thankfully, my gaze didn't travel any lower, but that was because my eyes were captivated by his lips. Smooth, pink, thin, they curled up into a small smile with ease. "You alright, miss?" He asked, that same deep, rumbling voice practically washing over me. I was in awe. I was glad that I was sitting down.

God had no right to make someone as physically attractive as the man in front of me.

"I…yes, I am, thank you very much," I replied as calmly as I could, despite the circumstances. "He was…an annoyance."

The man chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I could see that. That's not the first time that particular 'annoyance' has caused trouble here."

That surprised me. I'd never seen that man here before, and I came here most nights to play. To be fair, I was usually pretty preoccupied. I knitted my brows together, searching through my memories to see if I had even vaguely noticed him before. "Huh. I don't recall seeing him. And I practically live here."

The guy in front of me laughed deeply again, and when I looked up, he wiggled his eyebrows together. "See, if I didn't know better," he started, gesturing to the stage I had just played on, "I would think you were a raging alcoholic for sayin' that."

I smiled in a strained way. This man had no idea how close he was to the truth – or at least the truth of six-months-ago-me. "I don't drink, actually," I replied, struggling to keep my tone even, adding a silent 'anymore' in my head.

He eyed the glass of water behind me before glancing back at me. "Well, you're definitely not Irish," he quipped, tone light and joking.

I snorted, the humor overtaking me for a second. "Like the American accent didn't give me away."

"Alright, Miss-American-who-doesn't-drink, what's your name?" He smiled boldly at me before tipping his head back and taking a long sip from the pint in his hand. I couldn't help but stare as he swallowed the beer, Adam's apple bobbing. God, his neck was thick.

But something else called to me in that moment, and my gaze flashed back to that pint in his hand. A craving struck me, hard enough like a punch to the stomach - something I hadn't felt since _at least_ August. I wanted a drink. I wanted the sting of alcohol in my mouth, and I didn't care what form it took. I needed it. Even if it would undermine all the progress I had made, I needed it.

 _No_. I didn't need it. I wasn't about to go down that path again, not after so-recently vacating it. My alcoholism had basically sealed the deal on my past ruined life, and I would not let it ruin me again in my new one. No, beer would stay in the past, no matter how much I craved it.

"Clementine." I tossed my hair back, turning slightly to grab onto my water glass. I bit my lip, looking down at my glass to steady myself before back up at the blonde in front of me. Something about him was oddly familiar.

He grinned, and it was such an infectious, happy grin that I couldn't help but smile back. "Me name is Niall, love. Pleasure to meet ya." He held his hand out and I gripped his, not surprised by the firm grasp he had. And God, those thick fingers…

"So, why would a lass like you not drink?"

I moistened my lips, flicking my gaze from his face to my water glass, still in my other hand. "I…I used to drink. But I don't think…it changes you. You're slower, you're weaker, you're…not you. And I couldn't handle being someone else anymore." It was close enough to the truth. Without realizing it, my eyes had filled with burning tears and my voice had sunk into a whisper. My hand was shaking, causing ripples to form in the water. The craving hit again, the need to forget and become numb. It nearly doubled me over.

I shot up from the stool. "Alright, Marley, I'm coming!" I shouted, despite not hearing her at all. I turned a half-crazed smile onto Niall, hoping he didn't realize I was faking him out. "Sorry. Duty calls. Lovely to meet you Niall. I'll…see you around." I said, anxiously taking a few steps toward the stage. My trumpet, which had been laid out on the counter in front of my seat, was already tucked into my hand.

Niall raised his glass to me, smile curling up at the edges. "That you will, love. See ya." Niall knocked back the rest of his pint and took my vacated seat.

I walked back to the stage, face red, shaky, refusing to look back.

Queen was a smashing success at the bar, like I knew it would be. Queen could get anyone moving. Especially when there's a rather excellent trumpet player playing in the high octave. That _really_ got things going. Especially for _We Will Rock You_. I kicked that one in particular into high-gear.

Every now and then, while playing, I made eye contact with Niall. He was still sitting in my old seat, but every time I looked at him, it seemed like he had a new pint in his hand. He didn't even seem like he was that affected by it. _Boy, what a drink threshold_. I _never_ had a threshold like that, despite practically drinking myself to death.

And what a laugh. Whenever we weren't playing, I could hear it roaring through the bar.

Even so, whenever I looked at him, I had to look away as a fresh wave of guilt washed over me, from both the beer and something else. It had my throat tightening up, and made my eyes watery, which I hated with a passion. With my tumultuous emotions, it was a miracle I made it through the set. I could fake it with energy, pouring whatever I was feeling into my music to give it an extra _pop_ , but Marley kept side-eyeing me throughout the last half of our set.

When we were done, I didn't stick around, despite the call for an encore. I mumbled to Marley that I wasn't feeling well and quick-stepped backstage. I crouched down, not concerned with flashing anyone anymore, and locked my trumpet safely into its case. I stood up, ignoring Conor and Dean's boisterous laughter as they walked in, shutting the door behind them.

"Hey, Clem, wanna hit the town with us-"

"No thanks. I've got to get going." I interrupted, grabbing the case and striding out the door. I didn't even attempt to warm down, ignoring the ache in my lips. I also ignored the hurt but not surprised expressions on Conor and Dean's faces.

I got onto my bike after releasing it from its lock, placed my case in the basket, and sped off. It was freezing, and I was wearing a dress and tights. As I pedaled quickly down the mostly empty street, I noticed snow starting to drift gently down from the sky. Great.

Cast in the light from the streetlamps, I stopped, placing my feet on the ground, and gazed up at the sky. The moon was covered by the thick, gray snow clouds. I could feel the light sting of cold as snow fell onto my upturned face and melted in my lashes.

"You have no reason to feel bad anymore," I whispered to myself. But my lower lip trembled, and anyone would have been able to point out that I was lying. I couldn't even fool myself.

With a deep breath, I tried to settle my nerves, and took off on the bike. I was starting to feel bad about something else – bluntly rejecting Conor's offer to go out for a night on the town. I'd rejected the offers before, frequently, but never quite as rudely. I didn't go out with anyone. I stayed home, I went to work, I read books, and I practiced. I talked with people that I had to talk with, like Nathan and Carra and the group at the bar.

Maybe they would stop asking me to go out with them, eventually.

By the time I rolled my bike up to Just Books, the store was closed. It was a little after midnight, so I didn't expect it to be open, but I still felt a little twinge of disappointment when I realized Carra hadn't waited up on me. She had only done it once or twice before, but it was nice. It felt nice to know that she cared enough to stay up.

But I was an adult, and I wouldn't cry over it, so I pushed that slight sting of disappointment away, and locked my bike up behind the store to prevent it from being stolen.

I took the back way up to my apartment, shivering as I struggled to unlock the door. I stepped in and was immediately enveloped in a bubble of warmth. I smiled to myself as I locked the door and slid the bolt in place; Carra had turned the heat on for me, something I had forgotten to do myself.

I took a hot shower to get rid of the cold riding deep in my bones, but the joy from feeling the heat quickly faded. I couldn't believe that I practically flirted with Niall. I had no right to do that, and Niall certainly would not want to get caught up in _anything_ with me. Not after what I did. No one deserves to be stuck with a mess like me. And god, the beer in his hand…

I _really_ craved a glass of wine now, or a shot, or _anything_ to make me forget myself. Anything to make me forget the legacy of damage and pain I had left behind in Florida.

But even when the craving's got so bad that my hands started to shake as I showered, I resisted. I couldn't do that to myself. I couldn't do that to Jamie or her kids. It wasn't fair to my family. I already left them once, and I couldn't do it again with alcohol being my escape. It didn't matter that I hadn't talked to any of them since I had left, because I would just be burying myself deeper underground, further from them.

So even though I was miserable and sad, I crawled into my bed and buried myself under the blankets. It was almost 1:30 in the morning. I needed some sleep, and tomorrow morning, I would feel better. I would try to put it all behind me once again.

I rolled to the edge of the bed and checked my phone, squinting into the suddenly bright light of my phone. My heart dropped into my stomach when I noticed the date, and I felt blatantly worse, if that was even possible. Nausea crawled up my stomach, making my throat constrict.

Friday, November 25th.

I had missed Thanksgiving at home.


	3. Chapter 2

" _ **You don't know what I've done,**_

 _ **I'm wanted and on the run,**_

 _ **I'm wanted and on the run.**_

 _ **So I'm taking this moment to live in the future."**_

 _ **Message Man, Twenty One Pilots**_

November 30th, 2016

I was off for the next few days, different enough from how I normally acted that Carra asked if I was sick and Marley forced me to meet her for coffee to evaluate my well-being. We met at a coffee shop not far from Just Books.

Marley had taken a sip of her Frappuccino, ducking her head, and I had squinted as the sun had shone onto her newly-purpled hair and briefly blinded me. Then she had looked at me and said, with steel in her voice, "Out with it."

I wasn't up to playing games or dancing around the subject. My energy on stage had been different those past couple of days, and Marley was really talented at picking up on that. There was no use in lying about it, or at least not telling part of the truth. "I haven't talked to my family in a long time, and the first real holiday passed in America and it was…hard."

That was definitely part of the problem, but it didn't explain the guilt threatening to drown me or why it was suddenly hard for me to perform at the bar without feeling sick with a twist of want and disgust by the end of our set.

Marley, somehow, had seemed to sense that that was all I was willing to say on the matter, patted my hand, and changed the subject to purchasing new music pieces. Marley was a gift from heaven.

Now, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, I briefly wondered what it would be like to never leave this bed, or this apartment. I felt crushed by the weight of my feelings, unable to move, to even blink. There wasn't a point in moving anyway. It just led to eventual destruction, to feelings getting hurt, to ultimate and endless pain.

A deep, dark fog seemed to pull down on my mind, sinking me deep into my problems and guilt, _why_ I was guilty, what I was running from…the weight felt like it was never going to lift.

And then my phone started vibrating on the nightstand.

It was a little after six in the morning back in Florida, and Jamie must have been on her way home from her night shift at the hospital. I squinted at the phone, and at the very last possible second, accepted the call.

"Hello?" I asked, voice ragged and deep, like I had just been dragged from sleep.

It was quiet for a second on the other line. And then, "Hey, Clem." A tired voice answered me, rough from a night of work and saving lives, readying itself to start it all over again tonight.

"Hi, Jamie."

I hadn't spoken to Jamie since I had first arrived here in Ireland back in May, scared, alone, but determined to leave Florida behind. Out of everyone in my family, Jamie had been the one to encourage me to go. It didn't matter that I had only been sober for about two weeks. It was breaking me apart inside to stay in Florida, and while everyone else was perfectly aware of it, Jamie was the only one to try and help me leave.

The rest of my family had told me that I should stay, and not waste the degree I had barely achieved from the University of Florida. But they didn't fully realize how it hurt to even attend my commencement ceremony, not even a week after I had turned twenty three, when Jack wasn't around to celebrate either achievement…

There was an awkward silence between the two of us, something I resented almost immediately. Jamie and I had used to be incredibly close, and I was practically the older sister to her young children. But then my life had spiraled out of control and no one knew quite how to act around me.

"How is Mullingar?" She finally asked, a reach into a light conversation, and a part of me wanted to know why she called me now. But the other part of me, the larger part, was afraid to ask.

"Cold. You'd like it here, it's been threatening snow recently, but there's only been a light powder dusting. It makes the whole city quieter, a little more peaceful."

"Are you still riding that bike around everywhere?"

I pressed my lips together. "Yeah, I am." The bike was a sore subject, considering only yesterday, while biking to work, I had rode over a slick patch of ice and keeled over, tearing a hole in my tights and earning myself a bloody knee. My trumpet case had skittered out onto the road, and I had had to dart out to grab it. Luckily, the instrument was fine. My dignity had not been.

"Okay, well…be careful out there then."

I hated this. I hated this conversation, and that we couldn't talk about anything and everything like how we used to. I hated this obviously large physical divide, and the even scarier emotional one. "How are the kids?"

"Paisley is good, she's settled into first grade, and she had a good birthday party. Aiden is…well, Aiden. Adorable. Three." She paused for a moment. "They miss you. I miss you."

I noticed that she hadn't mentioned my mother, and wondered briefly whether that was intentional. My mom hadn't been happy that I had left; she was of the opinion that by leaving, I was squandering my degree, and that I had therefore wasted all of my scholarship money. Our parting at the airport hadn't been particularly amicable.

"I miss them too…I…did you get those birthday cards I sent in the mail?" Something I had always done was make homemade cards for everyone on their birthday. Aiden, Paisley, and Jamie had all recently had birthdays. Actually, Jamie's had been the 26th of November, only a few days ago.

"Yes we did. The kids loved them. They keep asking to FaceTime you. I've been trying my hardest to explain that you need your space and time to heal, but…well. We're all worried about you, Clementine. Your mom especially-"

I scoffed.

"- is worried that you'll start drinking again and no one will be able to help you this time," Jamie continued, ignoring my minor interruption, "And we want to start setting up FaceTime's. It would ease all of our minds. And the kids would love to see you."

I debated for a minute, even though there was nothing to even really consider. I was in a much better position mentally than I had been when I moved here at the end of May. I wasn't at risk of dissolving into tears every two seconds. I wasn't going to freak the kids out during a fifteen-minute call. I would be fine.

"Alright. I'll talk with you and the kids."

I could practically feel Jamie's relief, it was so palpable on the line between us. "Alright, kid. So what are you up to in Ireland?"

The rest of the conversation flowed almost easily between the two of us, just like it had before everything happened. We chatted about her job, her kids, her husband – everything and everyone. Except for my mom.

When Jamie got home, she hung up with promises of calling at some later point after getting some much-needed rest. And I felt lighter than I had in days.

Niall hadn't popped into my head for a while, so of course, the very next day, I ran into him at Aldi's.

Aldi's wasn't too far from my apartment, about a five to ten minute bike ride, even less on the days that Carra and I went together in her car. I had always been a big fan of the Aldi's in Florida, so discovering one here was exciting. I could buy a lot of food without going over-budget, which was something not easily achieved. Being frugal was not simple.

When I checked in with her, Carra was busy directing in some new shipments for an upcoming book release, so I biked myself to Aldi's. I went grocery shopping frequently, sometimes twice a week – I tended to go through a lot more food than I should have, eating to fill the long voids of silence and boredom.

It wasn't healthy. I needed to stop.

Oh well.

While picking up some Poptarts, I glanced up. Across the aisle, already eyeing me with a wary, apprehensive grin, was Niall Horan.

In the few moments it took for him to smile and start to walk over to me, I considered running away.

I was clad in thick gray sweat pants – while it hadn't snowed since the slightly early powdering of last week, it was cold, and I _was_ from Florida, which means I have thin blood – and a ragged UF sweatshirt. My hair was somewhat greasy and tossed in a messy bun on the top of my head. Despite my conversation with Jamie, I was still feeling anxious about too many things at once, and it showed in the dark, smudged circles under my eyes.

Basically, I looked like I belonged in a casket.

And Niall _Horan_ , who I had finally recognized, was approaching me with a friendly grin stretching his cheeks wide.

After talking with Jamie, I had scrolled through some social media, still reluctant to leave bed, and finally, it dawned on me – Niall from the bar was also popstar Niall. Recently released a new single, Niall. _Niall Horan, of One Direction_.

Now, I had never been a huge fan of One Direction. They just weren't my style, although I definitely didn't protest the band or hate on them for being a boyband. If they came on the radio, it didn't bother me. I had even liked Niall's newest song when I heard it on the radio here in Mullingar.

Niall stopped a foot in front of me and casually tucked his hands into the pockets of his own sweatpants. He, like me, was wearing a sweatshirt, although his wasn't nearly as faded as mine. In fact, he was rather rocking the hobo-look, while I, again, looked like I was sick and dying. This, of course, was not fair, and I felt incredibly offended. No one had the right to look _that_ good in sweats.

Cursing him silently for his amazingly good looks, I managed a small smile. "Hi, Niall."

"Hey, Clementine. It's nice to see ya."

There was a momentary awkward pause, which one would expect after being approached by a celebrity at a cheaper grocery store after having exactly one conversation with said celebrity beforehand.

Niall cleared his throat, baby blue eyes ducking shyly as he scratched at the back of his head. A thick black beanie was tugged down over his bleached hair, some tiny blonde curls peeking out from beneath it. "I haven't been to the bar lately. Anything interestin' happen?"

I considered my answer. "I think someone was escorted out by friends in some weird protest. I wasn't really paying attention, though."

My mind had been on other things, like avoiding thinking about drinking. I hadn't even noticed that Niall wasn't at The Crossbar.

Niall chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. "Ah. Nothin' better than a good tussle in a bar."

I let out a weak chuckle, nodding my head. If I searched my memory hard enough, I could faintly recall my own fight in a bar…not a physical one, a verbal battle that led…well, Jack was gone. It led to that.

 _My fault_.

I cleared my throat and shook my head lightly, like that could shake out my thoughts before they could take serious hold. "So!" I said brightly, a bit _too_ cheerful, mind whirring to think of things to say. "What brings you to Aldi's at, uh, 10:37 in the morning?"

Niall gestured to the box of strawberry Poptarts I was protectively clutching to my chest with his chin. "Same as you, I suppose. Gettin' my Poptarts." Niall chuckled quietly, the sound deep and rasping from his chest.

I nodded gravely. "Don't get the knock-off brand. The filling is nasty."

Niall nodded back, solemn. "I will take that to heart." He reached past me, arm brushing against mine as he plucked up a box of s'mores Poptarts. "'M not really a fan of the fruity ones though. I like the other flavors."

It hit me in that moment how surreal my life had become. Here I was, talking to Niall Horan about Poptart preferences in an Aldi's. Who would have guessed?

" _I_ like to stay as healthy as I can," I replied airily, lifting my chin a little. Niall responded by glancing at my box and raising his eyebrows at me. I snorted and couldn't help the laugh that escaped my mouth, even as I tried to block it with my hands and failed.

Niall looked faintly pleased about my reaction, a smile curling up the corners of his lips. "So, Clementine-"

I interrupted him. "Clem. My friends call me Clem. Clementine is…a mouthful. And for serious situations."

Niall grinned again and shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. My eyes dipped down to his thick fingers before I quickly tore them back up to his face. "Alright, _Clem_. How often do you work at The Crossbar?"

I eyed Niall skeptically. "You're asking me about my life."

"That is typically what friends do, yes."

"Well, I refuse to talk about my life inside an Aldi's, next to the Poptarts."

Niall smirked suddenly, his face taking on a mildly devilish expression. He waggled his eyebrows at me as he said, "Fine, we're going to meet for coffee and talk about your life there."

Dumbfounded, I just stared with wide eyes as he rattled off the address and name. "But…"

"Nope." Niall responded, popping the 'p' and shoving his free hand into his pocket, the other still cradling his own package of Poptarts. "You're going to meet me there, _Clem._ See ya there in half an hour."

And without a backwards glance, Niall walked over to his cart, gently and lovingly placed his Poptarts in it, and walked off down the aisle. He walked with a swagger, confident, shoulders set back and chest puffed. Like I was wrapped around his finger. Niall obviously was used to girls falling over their feet for him.

There was a huge part of me that wanted to ignore Niall's demand to meet him at the coffee place and go home. I had laundry to do. There was a book I wanted to start reading. I had music to practice. I didn't want to drop everything to go meet Niall. But, even so, there was a small part of me that wanted to see him - a rebellious cache that was tired of punishing myself and pushing everyone away. I didn't deserve to have friends, true, but I felt so lonely all the time that it was hard to live.

I owed it to Jack to continue living. And I knew, deep down, that I couldn't continue to live if I kept myself separate from everyone else for much longer. That wasn't something I wanted my family to deal with, an ocean away, or Carra and Nathan, or even Marley and the band. They didn't deserve that. So maybe this small step would keep me going.

And Niall would get his coffee talk in return.


	4. Chapter 3

" _ **Can you tell me what is real?**_ _ **  
**_ _ **'Cause I've lost my way again**_ _ **  
**_ _ **Can you tell me how to feel?**_ _ **  
**_ _ **'Cause I don't feel anything**_ _ **  
**_ _ **Now that I'm down here again**_ _ **  
**_ _ **I'm down with the fallen again."**_

 _ **Down With the Fallen, Starset**_

December 1st, 2016

I arrived at the coffee shop fifteen minutes late, red-faced and sweaty from the bike over. It had been a bit further of a ride than I had expected, _and_ I had extra weight on my bike due to the grocery bags in my basket. I paused outside the shop as I latched my bike into the bike rack, peering into the frosted-over windows. The shop looked cozy enough inside, a fire visible in the corner, but that was all I could see due to the fogged-up windows.

As I looked down at my bike, I huffed softly and hooked the straps of my grocery bags into my hands and lugged them inside the shop, a bell tinkling above my head as I pushed the door open and stepped in. A rush of warmth settled over my body, and I couldn't help but let out a relaxed sigh as I dusted my boots off on the welcome mat in front of the door.

"Clem! Over here," I heard Niall's deep voice call out, and I swiveled towards it, spotting him at a small booth tucked in next to a window overviewing a side street. I strode over and sat down carefully, tucking my groceries in next to me, pressed to the wall.

Niall smiled charmingly, albeit a little shyly, at me across the table. "I was gettin' worried that you weren't gonna show."

I snorted softly as I rubbed my hands together. "I had to finish shopping, and I don't have a car. I ride my bike everywhere. Also, I might have gotten a little lost."

To his credit, Niall looked horrified, big blue eyes wide, pink lips parted in shock. "I had _no_ idea, Clem, I am so sorry. I'll give ya a ride in me car, okay? Shit, I'm sorry, don't worry…"

I laughed softly at his response, shaking my head. "You could be a serial killer. Maybe I should take my chances on my bike," I mumbled as I rubbed my hands together, trying not to make a face at the sensation of being defrosted from the outdoors. It was like jumping into a cold pool and then immediately sitting in a hot tub – everything was tingling and warm, and mildly uncomfortable.

Niall shook his head. "In my line of work, I'm not allowed to be a serial killer, Clem." He joked, mouth curling up at the edges.

I tried not to smile. "Your fans would be so sad if you were a serial killer."

He looked a little surprised, eyebrows drawn together, but in this day and age, it was easy enough to find out the dirt on _anyone_ , _especially_ a celebrity. Technology was spooky, and strange, but at least parents could check to see if their babysitter was a registered felon. There was that bonus, at least. But Niall recovered, scoffing and muttering under his breath, "I'm no Geoffrey Evans." At my puzzled look, Niall stared at me. "You don' know about Evans?"

I lifted a brow. "Do you know about Bundy?"

"Fair enough."

A waitress appeared, thick pad of paper in one hand, a purple pen in the other. "Hullo dears, m' name's Alice. What can I get for ya?"

Niall ordered coffee and fried eggs with bacon rasher. When I asked for my check to be separate, he waved his hand and gave me a very clear no. "I made ya bike here in the cold, least I can do is pay for your meal," he muttered.

I shrugged and ordered hot chocolate and toast. Niall wrinkled his nose at me, and it was such a cute action that for a second, I felt warm in a different way than from the heat inside the restaurant. An inner sort of warmth. But I tamped that feeling down as quickly as it flared. It wouldn't help anyone at all if I couldn't control my own feelings.

Niall's coffee and my hot chocolate were delivered quickly enough, and Niall wrapped his huge hands around the white, porcelain mug, testing the temperature. And that image of him across from me, smiling lightly, brought me back to another time, another coffee place – Starbucks – and another boy looking at me with endearment clear in his eyes.'

I blinked, and the image of Jack, of his windswept black hair, his brown, beautiful eyes shimmering with content, vanished. The sick feeling in my stomach, however, remained, and I abruptly set my mug of hot cocoa down on the table, watching as some droplets spilled over the edges and slid down the white cup, staining it.

That's how I felt. Stained, and tainted.

Niall spoke, and I jumped in my seat a little. "So, Clem, how did an American lass like you end up in Mullingar?"

I thought for a moment. "There's a…Winston Churchill quote about us Americans," I started slowly and carefully so I didn't stumble over my words, "that goes like this: 'You can always count on Americans to do the right thing – after they've tried everything else.' And it was the right thing for me to do. My right thing."

Niall frowned slightly, head tilted to the side, reminiscent of a small puppy. "Does this mean you're a history buff, too?"

I let out a startled bark of a laugh, glad that Niall was willing to lighten the conversation after my not-so-subtly-dark answer. I had no idea why I even _said_ that; the quote struck me in a moment of brilliance, and before I could think too much about it, it had tumbled off my tongue. The sick inside of me flared again. "I'm pretty decent at everything except math, basically."

Niall grinned, smile stretching wide across his face. "Now math is somethin' I can do."

I forced a smile back, forced the sickness growing through my bones to head off. "Good for you. Math is a useful subject."

We made small talk, bantering back and forth until Niall's bacon and my toast arrived, and then luckily enough, food filled the silence, and I could think.

I tried my best to avoid thinking of Jack, but I couldn't even by a McDonald's without feeling the crippling weight of memories pressing down into my head. He was always there, always in some dark, deep abyss within my mind, waiting for me to slip, so he could invade and drive me insane. Maybe there was a part of me, a part I tried to keep locked up and tight, that was already insane.

And it wasn't helping, for me to sit here with Niall, and think about Jack. Sometimes, though, I couldn't _not_ think about him. He was my best friend since kindergarten. We made it through everything together.

Almost everything.

"Clem?" Niall asked, pausing to take a sip of his cooled coffee, "ask me somethin'. I feel like 'm just badgering you with questions you don't want to answer." He smiled faintly, and then I felt a different type of guilt – he noticed my own inner turmoil and thought it was his fault. It really wasn't.

I smiled slightly for his sake. "Tell me about your music."

Niall relaxed instantly, tension I hadn't even noticed melting out of his bones. "My music…I guess music in general. There's nothin' better than writin' or listenin' to music, Clem. You know that. Playin' it is…transcendent. I discovered how to really love through music. With music."

And that was something I deeply, deeply understood. I was – _am_ – the same way. Music has saved me, multiple times over. It was so nice to see someone so happy about music, the way I was during high school and college. The way I was starting to feel again, now that the hole in my chest had healed enough that the edges were no longer jagged.

Niall smiled softly at me, and I knew that he recognized that love, no matter how much it was buried in the past, in me.

"When did you start playing guitar?"

We talked for what felt like ages, all about music. We talked about our favorite artists (we had different music taste for the most part), our favorite pieces, what marching band was like for me during high school and college, what being in a band was like for him – all of it. We just talked. I didn't talk about Jack, or even really think about him, and it was lovely.

Niall glowed when he talked about music. A faraway look grew in his eyes, and his cheeks turned a mottled red. His accent grew thicker the more excited he got, and he started gesturing with his hands a lot. He was even more thrilled when I could keep up with him with the music theory, chord structure; general music talk.

Before I even realized what had happened, two hours had passed. "Oh jeez. I should probably get home." I said as the conversation faded, checking the time. I had no idea _why_ I needed to get home; there was nothing going on there, no one expecting me. But I wasn't used to being away from my apartment for so long unless it was for work-related reasons.

Rubbing his hands together, Niall nodded, pulling out his wallet and paying the bill. We stood up and I grabbed my groceries, tucking them into my arms. Before I could even head towards the door, Niall promptly plucked one of the bags from me and smirked as he grabbed the door for me. I almost stopped walking, rolling my eyes. Who even _was_ this man?

Niall chuckled in response, and I strolled past, tucking myself down into my hoodie as the cold outside. Niall stepped past me, walking down the sidewalk past the shop to a small parking lot nestled next to the café. All I could do was grab my bike and follow; he had my box of Poptarts.

He led me to a beautiful, sleek black Range Rover. My jaw dropped a little. "Shit," I whispered, slack-jawed, before recovering and nudging Niall with my elbow. "You compensating for something?" I joked.

Niall snorted as he pulled his keys out and unlocked the car. "Shut up and get in. I got the bike." I watched as Niall set the groceries he had taken from me down in the backseat, and then glided my bike to the back. Popping the trunk, he lifted it up and then picked my bike up easily and laid it down across the ground. I stayed outside to watch, subtly admiring the way his own hoodie tightened against his arms. It was really unfair how good he looked in lazy day clothing.

Niall turned to face me, and quirked a brow when he realized I was watching him. I sneered jokingly at him in response and climbed into the passenger seat. I had to blink and readjust – everything was different when the passenger's seat was on the left side instead of the right.

For a minute, my chest tightened, and I had to force myself to breathe.

" _Ma'am, you were the last person to see Jack Smith…"_

I gripped tightly onto the armrest on the door, and closed my eyes, forcing the image of the police officer in my front door away, forcing away the memory of confusion, the hangover that increased the weight of my puzzlement, the pounding headache that wouldn't go away throughout the subsequent talks with the officer, my mom, Jack's parents…

With some effort, I pushed away those thoughts and took a deep breath, lightening my tightened chest. I couldn't help but react to getting inside of cars, especially now that I was sober. They were death traps, accidents waiting to happen.

I used to love driving; wind in my hair, music too loud.

Niall either didn't notice or decided not to comment on my momentary panic. I wasn't sure which. He buckled his seatbelt and I followed suit, pushing the belt in with a sharp click. He turned the car on and glanced over at me. "Alright, where do you live?"

"Do you know the bookstore Just Books?"

"Yes."

"I have an apartment on top of that store."

Niall nodded once and pulled out smoothly, shifted, and started driving down the street. Traffic was light, and we were both silent for most of the drive. It wasn't a bad silence; it was comfortable, easy, like the silence between good friends, strange for two people who barely knew each other. But at the same time, Niall was just easy-going enough that I felt I had known him for a long time.

He parked behind he the store, and I hopped out and grabbed my bike from the back and led it to the tiny storage are beneath the stairs up to the apartment. I shut the wooden door after putting it in place, and clicked the lock into place.

I walked back to the car to grab my bags, my shoulders hunched against the cold.

Niall smiled shyly at me, corners of his lips barely lifted, eyes downcast and then flickering back up to me. "I would like to help you with your groceries…but I'm not sure you want me to go up to your apartment."

A warm flush ran up throughout my entire body, and I smiled slowly back. "You can come up for a little bit. I don't mind."

The answering smile I received in return made it seem like Niall had won the lottery.

Niall gently took a bag from me and I pulled my keys out of my sweatshirt pocket, and then walked up the stairs leading to my apartment. As I fumbled to unlock the door, I wondered if this was a good idea. Was it clean enough? Did I do the dishes or were they scattered along the sink? Did I, at the very least, toss the sheets I had kicked off last night back onto the bed?

I opened the door, held it for Niall to get in, and walked inside to place the groceries on my small counter space to unload. Nervously, I tried to see my apartment as Niall would.

Small. Light, powder-blue walls. A small kitchen that was connected to a small living room that was connected to a small bedroom which had a tiny bathroom attached. From the kitchen, I noted that the blankets were tossed on my bed, although I could only see the corner of the dark blue quilt I had recently purchased from my viewpoint. My pink laptop was placed on a small coffee table in front of a small, stained, black loveseat, which had another blanket messily thrown on it – I got cold very easily. A miniscule TV perched precariously on an end table in behind the coffee table. There was an orange seashell sitting next to it.

There were also a couple of books scattered about, but that was really it. No pictures. No paintings. Nothing personal besides the seashell, and even that was debatable. It looked like I had just moved in; the only thing I was missing was the cardboard boxes dispersed throughout.

My cheeks warmed, but I stayed silent and worked on unloading the groceries. I had basically one open space on the counter to work on, and it wasn't big; the rest of my counter was taken up by a bulky black microwave, a coffee pot, and a shitty toaster, which I probably could have replaced by now, but hadn't gotten to yet. I set my box of Poptarts inside of one of the two cabinets I had – the other contained my plates and assorted cups and mugs.

Niall looked around, just observing. I felt incredibly judged.

"Your flat is nice," he finally ventured.

I snorted. "No it isn't."

"I've seen worse."

I forced yet another smile. "I'm sure you have."

Things fell quiet between us again, but this time the silence was uncomfortable, awkward. The air was thick between us. I shifted a little bit, and tried to diffuse the tension.

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

I moved past him, my arm brushing his, and started up the coffee pot. The crackling sounds of the coffee pot filled the silence.

"So why did you move to Mullingar of all places?"

"Didn't you ask that earlier?"

"You deflected the question with your historical quote."

"Right." I winced, since it had been so obvious that I had avoided the question.

I thought about it, my arm paused mid-air in its quest for two coffee mugs. "I didn't really…have a purpose when I left. I bought a plane ticket to New York City, and chose where to go from there. I chose Dublin. And then…I asked an employee in the airport where to go from there. She lived here in Mullingar, said it was nice. So I ended up here."

There were some holes in my story, like how my mother's disappointment chased me all the way across the ocean. Like how I was barely sober when I made my journey, how the world was fuzzy at all of its edges. Like how my eyes were filled with burning tears most of the trip.

I also ignored how, when I got here, I struggled to find a place to live and a job; how, for a week when I got here, I laid on a hotel bed and didn't move other than to occasionally eat and use the bathroom. These were things Niall just didn't need to know, plain and simple.

"Where are you from in America?"

I grabbed two coffee mugs from the cabinet. Unlike the rest of the apartment, my coffee mugs were colorful, different, albeit they didn't match. I set a Ravenclaw Harry Potter mug down for myself, and my other Harry Potter mug for Niall, with the Marauders Map on it. I had bought them during separate trips to Universal. "I'm from Florida. Bradenton, specifically. South of Tampa."

Niall's eyes lit with understanding. "Ah, okay. I've played in Tampa before, it's a decent city. Fucking hot as hell though."

I scoffed. "Try living there in the summer, buddy, full-time."

Niall chuckled. "Nah. I've been in some hot places before, but I'm more used to colder weather and snow. That shit sucks though too."

Shuddering in agreement, I poured Niall his coffee, then reached into the fridge for creamer. "Sugar's next to the toaster if you want some." I paused to pour coffee into my Ravenclaw mug. "And I like the cold well enough, as long as I have covers. I like wrapping myself in blankets."

Niall nudged his chin towards the loveseat, where the evidence of that was. "I see that." Niall poured a bit of my French vanilla creamer in, but not too much, and stirred it with his finger. I did the same, but poured in more creamer, and used a spoon, like a civilized person.

"So you're a Ravenclaw, then?" Niall asked after a moment of quiet, looking down at my mug.

I nodded. "Yeah. I took the quiz online. I was trying to collect all of the House mugs. I like to collect coffee mugs. That's kind of my thing. I brought these two with me from home."

I had brought a lot of weird stuff from home, not all of it useful. I left a lot of clothes at my old home too; I only brought a couple pairs of sweat pants, t-shirts, my UF sweatshirt, and my 'working' dress. The rest was assorted junk: the seashell by the TV, the two coffee mugs, my phone and its charger and headphones, and my favorite movie _The Judge_ with Robert Downey Jr., among other things.

Niall frowned to himself and looked down at his own mug. "The Harry Potter world at Universal is fuckin' cool as hell. I've been there a couple of times meself. But I don't know what me house would be. I've never taken the quiz. I love the movies though."

I smiled indulgently at him. He didn't seem like much of a reader, really. "The movies are wonderful. So are the books. But I can't believe you haven't sorted yourself!"

Niall grinned. "I'll get to it, eventually. I'm surprised you didn't jump down me throat when I didn't mention the books."

"If you had known me back in Florida, I would have," I allowed, taking another sip. "But it's not that big of a deal to me anymore. I love to read, and I spend a lot of time doing that. If you don't, that's okay. I'm not going to scream at you just because you don't like something I don't." I shrugged, leaning back against the counter.

Niall looked at me for a second, eyes narrowed, before smiling and shaking his head. "You're somethin' else," he muttered, and when I raised my eyebrows, he elaborated, "I've known more than one person who would do just that. Scream at me for not likin' somethin' they did. It's just nice to meet someone that's like me in that respect."

I considered him, head tilted to the side thoughtfully. There was a real tone of sincerity to his voice. It was obvious to me that he had had more than one experience with that kind of person. "Must suck when the person who does the screaming is someone you're dating."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, letting me know that I had hit the nail right on its head. But then Niall winked conspiratorially and chuckled, "it's a real boner-killer, I'll tell you right now."

I almost spat out my coffee. A surprised laugh burst past my lips once I swallowed, and I pushed a hand over my mouth, trying to contain it. Niall looked a bit dazed, a slow smile creeping up his lips. I looked away, still feeling that bubbly laugh attempting to escape, and tried to distract myself.

When I trusted myself to not laugh like a deranged donkey, I took a casual sip of coffee, signaling to Niall that that was not to be talked about.

We chatted for a little bit longer, until I told Niall that I had to start getting ready for work. He looked almost sad that I rejected his offer of a ride, but to be honest, I couldn't think straight around him. Niall was just too easy to talk to; I blurted out just about anything without really considering it. Besides, we'd already talked most of the day away. I needed to sort out my thoughts a little bit before getting ready to play.

"Hey, Clem?"

"Yeah?" I answered, biting down gently on my lip and turning to look at him. Niall was standing next to the door, half-twisted around to see me, his hand already encircling the doorknob.

Niall's eyes flicked from mine and to the floor, back and forth, before finally settling on mine. "When will I see you again?" His voice was soft, and held a note of insecurity to it. Niall probably recognized that I wouldn't seek him out, because I wouldn't – what he didn't recognize was that it would be for his own good. I would hurt him, like I had hurt everyone back home.

Maybe, though, for a little bit, I could be his friend, and he could be mine. Maybe, like how I thought earlier today, he could help me continue to live, and when I was better, before I hurt him, I would let him go. Maybe.

I sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out, pushing strands of my hair out of my face. His eyes, beautiful blue, stayed steady on mine, not even wavering as he waited for an answer. "Whenever you want to." I finally breathed, feeling a small piece of my chest loosen up and release.

Niall smiled widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. He released the doorknob and strode over to me in three big steps, big hand digging in his pocket. He pulled out his phone, typed a few things in, and looked at me expectantly. "Number?"

I gave it to him, and he saved it under "Clem". Just like that. Niall Horan had my number.

He was still smiling so widely that it was like looking into the sun, and I almost had to look away. He was a ray of sunshine, burning fiercely, and my heart ached because of it. He was good. Too good for the likes of me. Niall deserved a better friend than me. Niall deserved someone better, period.

As we said goodbye once again, I hoped that I wouldn't kill that ray within him. I hoped that I wouldn't hurt him too badly. Because I was starting to feel greedy – a dark cloud, covering his light, absorbing it.

I hoped that I would never block out his rays with my darkness.

 _Jack appeared next to me, black hair wavy, blue eyes radiant, smile wide. I felt my breath stutter in my chest, and reached for him with both arms. He was a supernova, exploding, ready to take me with him, but so brilliant that I would have let him willingly._

 _But his smile became twisted, and his eyes lost their light. "Selfish, Clementine. You're a selfish monster."_

 _My arms dropped to my sides with a small plop. "I know," I whispered, eyes downcast, similar to a scolded puppy. I would have done anything for forgiveness. Yet there was nothing left for me to beg; nothing more than a shell, an unfulfilled life, left to torture me and make sure that I never forgot._

 _Jack shook his head. Blood appeared, staining his pale skin, contrasting brightly with it. His eyes met mine again, and that hole in my chest_ ached _, roaring and tearing itself wide open again. I collapsed to my knees, crying out, but Jack never came any closer._

" _Your fault," he whispered. "It's your fault."_

 _And then I somewhere different, crouched on the side of a dark road in the rain. There was a river next to the road, frothing and angry, turbulent with its waves. It was close to spilling over the ban, ready to flood._

 _In front of me a little ways were two cars, a little way apart from each other, fronts smashed beyond belief. One headlight was flickering ominously; the others were dark. The force of the crash was so great that at least one of the vehicles had rolled back from the other. The windows on both vehicles were cracked, in some areas shattered._

 _There were no signs of life from either car._

 _Pain hit me right in the chest and I sank fully to the ground, sobbing. "No!" I cried, digging my fingers into the asphalt, nails bloody. "No no no no no!" I screamed, fighting to get the words past the rawness of my throat. "You can't be gone!_ YOU CAN'T!" _I bawled, thrashing and clawing at the wet road._

 _Over it all, my screams and the thunder, I heard Jack once again._

" _Your fault," he murmured._

I woke up, chest heaving, with a second to prepare myself before the nausea hit my stomach like a fist to the face. I stumbled out of bed and half-ran, half-tripped my way to the toilet, just making it puking directly into the bowl. I retched, over and over again, until I was a trembling mess.

When I was able to lean back from the toilet, I looked up and all I saw around me was nothing. Darkness. The panic hit me again and my heart beat faster in my chest. I started heaving over the toilet again.

Finally, it was over, and I recognized where I was. My head was throbbing, the world was spinning, and the hole in my chest was pulsating, sending waves of guilt and pain washing throughout the rest of my body. I thought it was healing; but no, the jagged edges were tearing open, and with it came every memory and all of the guilt, rushing like a tsunami to the forefront of my brain.

I was drowning.

My hands dug into my sides, twisting into the soft flesh on my stomach, trying to overpower the mental weight I was sinking under.

But what I really wanted was to be numb.

I laid back on the cool floor of the bathroom, my nails still raking into my skin. Cool. It was nice. It felt like it was taking the heat out of my body, almost leeching away the guilt and the agony.

Through my firestorm of my head, a simple idea popped up: why not sit outside? It was cold when I biked home from work. Surely it would be just as cold, if not colder, outside. There, I could be numb. There, I could feel nothing.

Slowly, I pushed myself off of the floor, faltering on my legs like a newborn deer. I kept my arms out for balance, and to guide myself forward. I leaned against the wall at one point, needing to stop and breathe.

And then I was outside, and the chill was so sudden and freezing down into my chest that I coughed. It was loud, breaking the silence that was cast over the predawn street.

In nothing but my thick, plaid pajama pants and tank top, I sat down on the top of the staircase, and stared out at the empty street. The cold surrounded me, blanketed me, and pricked everything it touched. But it also soothed. It took away the thoughts in my mind, the whirling emotions thundering inside me, quieted them, and I became what I wanted to be: numb.

It occurred to me then, in a small corner of my mind, that maybe meeting Niall was the cataclysm that pushed me over the edge of my own guilt.

I couldn't find it within myself to care. So I stared out at the cold morning, and let myself freeze.


	5. Chapter 4

" _ **The blood goes thin,**_

 _ **The fever stings,**_

 _ **And I shake from the hell that the habits bring.**_

 _ **Let the sick ones down,**_

 _ **The bells will ring.**_

 _ **Put pennies on the eyes,**_

 _ **Let the dead men sing."**_

 _ **Blackbirds, Linkin Park**_

December 2nd, 2016.

Nathan found me that morning at around 7:30, staring vacantly at the sleeping street. It was so cold out that my breath was visible in white puffs, pushing out of my frozen lips. He called my name a few times, strode up the stairs to me, and placed his burning hands on my shoulders. I almost flinched away from him, but there was such a huge piece of me that didn't care, so I stayed still.

When I didn't respond, he called Carra. He sounded frantic, from what I could tell beneath the many layers I had built up during the cold night. On edge, almost wholly scared. I had never heard him like this in the months that I had lived here.

Carra marched up the stairs, her face a pale mask of plain terror, lips pressed together into a thin line. She shouted something, at me or Nathan I wasn't sure, but her words travelled through one ear and out the other.

Something was wrong. Carra was swaying in front of me, blurred at the edges. She was trying to talk to me, but it was like I was miles underwater, and Carra was sitting above the surface. Everything was distorted and strange.

Once it was clear that I wasn't listening to her, Nathan reappeared and the two of them lifted me up and carried me down the stairs. Their touch was a slow burn on my skin, but faint, like there was some barrier between my skin and my nerve endings, making every touch dull, desensitized.

My eyes closed, and my head lolled into open air. When I opened my eyes again, I was in Nathan and Carra's apartment, behind the bookstore. I was on their old, worn, brown couch, my legs draped over the armrests. Carra was frowning down at me, her brown hair down from its normal tight bun, wavy and thick. It framed her face nicely, softened the severe lines of it, and made her frown appear more gentle.

Nathan hovered over me briefly, adjusting the glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He, too, was frowning, which was uncharacteristic of him. Carra waved him away, saying something to him, and Nathan disappeared.

While Nathan was gone, Carra started to undress me. I didn't help, but I didn't hinder either. It felt all too much beyond me, and the thought of lifting even a finger was exhausting to me. The cold had frozen me, made me numb; it was worth it. The wound in my chest was still gaping, still raw, but it was soothed for the time being. Frozen solid.

When my clothes were gone and all of me was exposed, Carra studied my body, eyes landing on my side. Her eyes widened. She reached a slow hand out to my stomach, brushing against the skin there, and whatever she saw displeased her, as she made a clucking noise with her tongue and turned away.

I didn't care. I closed my eyes, and slept.

I woke up covered in blankets and sweaty, with a grimacing Marley leaning down over me. I blinked slowly, and stared just past her face, to the right of it.

"So you just found her like this? Sitting out in the cold?" Marley asked, her high, lilting voice filtering its way down to my ears, but it still sounded off, different than normal. Like I was hearing her from the other side of a wall; muffled, and quiet.

Carra spoke from somewhere behind me. "Nathan did. She wouldn't look at him. Her skin…it was like ice. She hasn't spoken to us yet, either."

Marley was inspecting me, staring down into my dead eyes. She brushed her purple hair from her face, and then reached down and pushed my own hair out of the way. It fanned back against the couch instead. Her fingers lingered on the skin of my cheek, and through the walls in my mind separating us, I thought I detected genuine worry on her face.

The worry flickered and disappeared within a second, and then Marley straightened. "She obviously won't be working anytime soon."

That roused me, somehow, reaching deep into my head to a spot where I cared about money and my job. If I couldn't work or make money, I was nothing less than a child. That would not do. "I...I need to work," I croaked out, voice straining in the quiet air.

Both Carra and Marley jolted, Carra moving from behind the couch to stand next to Marley. Both were unified in their concern for me – Carra, as a mother, Marley as my boss. I must have imagined the earlier gleam of pure worry from her. "Clementine, what happened?"

I ignored Carra. "…need…to work. Can't afford…" Trying to speak was like wheeling a huge, full, water bucket up from the well. Everything was heavy, and it hurt to try. And then, when I managed, it wasn't entirely what I wanted; not full, like how I wanted it. The bucket was half empty, and my voice sounded like something that wasn't entirely my own.

I stared pleadingly up at Marley, begging to work, to not let this be taken away from me, because surely she would understand. Out of everyone I knew, surely she would understand the drive to keep going. But she had already turned away from me, and was looking at Carra instead. I couldn't see the expression on her face, but when Carra looked at me, it was full of concern and fear. "We'll see what we can do about the rent…"

The fight in me slumped, and I turned my chin to the other side, giving up. This was a battle that I would not win, and like the others, they weren't worth the fight. I had done it to myself anyway.

So I closed my eyes again, and the world around me faded to nothing.

Weeks passed, although I wasn't sure how many. After a few days of sleeping on Nathan and Carra's couch, they let me go back to my own apartment, my own bed, although the two of them continuously monitored me throughout each day.

Once while I watched, sitting on the loveseat with the blankets draped over my shoulders, Nathan came upstairs and installed a chain on the door that led to the outside staircase. It was high up enough that I would need a chair to stand on in order to reach it. When Nathan glanced back to check on me, I turned away and settled back onto my loveseat.

Carra had my phone. I noticed quite a few texts buzzing in from Jamie, from Niall, even from Conor and Dean, but I didn't care enough to check any of them. I was sure Carra was informing everyone, because soon after she had snatched my phone away, she left it on my counter and I didn't hear a single text come in.

I slept a lot. I didn't eat a lot, though. Carra had to sit a plate of food down in front of me and watch me eat it, or I didn't even try. There was some small part of me that felt terrible for all of the trouble I had caused, but the rest of my mind locked that piece of me far, far away.

I spent a lot of time listening to music. I focused on the lyrics, on the sounds, and let the melodies take me away. I wouldn't move for hours, just sitting in the same spot with headphones in my ears and my phone in my lap, until the battery died. It was the only thing I had an interest in doing; while I did pick up a book every now and then, the words glided by on the pages, and I retained nothing. It was too exhausting to read, and I was too emotionally smothered to try.

I broke on Christmas Day.

I hadn't been aware that it was Christmas, but Carra informed me of it as she strode into my apartment carrying a brown cardboard box. "Clem, its Christmas Day. Found something outside mailed to you."

I studied the package with no real interest. Carra glanced at me and placed the box on the couch beside me. When I made no move to open it, or inspect it any closer, Carra sighed. She leaned forward. "It's from a…Norma Jones, I believe."

That caught my interest, and I scooted away from the box, curling up with my knees to my chest. But I didn't take my eyes off of the box. It was so small. My mind was whirling. What could my mom possibly send me? She had basically disowned me when I left. That was supposed to be the end of everything between us, wasn't it?

Carra eyed me for a second, arms crossed over her chest, and then walked over to my kitchen and grabbed a pair of rusted-over scissors. She strode back over and started to cut through the tape that sealed the box together, and then pulled it open.

Pushing it over to me, Carra clucked her tongue. "Go on now. Take a look inside."

Slowly, reluctantly, I inched towards the box and peered inside of it. Inside was a small stuffed bunny that I instantly recognized. There was a blue shirt on it, and it was clutching a carrot between its front paws. A small piece of metal stuck out of its side.

With a shaking hand, I reached in and drew the bunny out. It was my baby toy; a rabbit that played the lullaby "You Are My Sunshine" over and over again once it was wound up. I clutched the rabbit to my chest, even as the ache there grew, and looked inside the box again, even as my eyes began to burn.

There was a piece of paper at the bottom of the box. I grabbed it slowly, and looked it over. It was a letter. All I caught were phrases: "I'm sorry" and "I forgive you" and "please forgive me?" before the façade I had built around my emotions, around my mind, shattered.

A broken sob twisted its way out of my chest, and suddenly Carra was there, in my arms, the bunny pressed between both of our chests. My chest hurt. The wound was no longer numb; it was raw, and filling me with agony once again. It made it hard to breathe. It made my tears flow faster down my reddened cheeks.

And, finally, for the first time since the incident, I spoke about what happened to Jack, and what I had done. After, in the wake of police officers and condolences cards, no one had directly talked to me about what had happened. They only mentioned his name, or "the accident" or "the incident". Not the truth of the matter; just the vague details. Everyone had been too afraid to set me off.

I had been set off now. The words kept pouring out of me, what happened, why I said what I said; everything I had thought and felt between now and then. My attempt to drink myself to death. I was spewing all of it out there, to this woman that I had only known for six months, but she was taking it like I had imagined she would, in the deepest, darkest part of my heart.

She held me, and let me weep into her chest, all while stroking my hair back from my face and whispering, "It'll be all right, love, shhh, shhh."

It wasn't okay, and never would be, but I let myself believe in the lie, at least for the moment.

I pulled away for a brief moment, my shaking hands grasping the toy rabbit. Carefully, I wound the music box up, twisting the knob as tight as it could go before releasing. The song picked up in the middle, and I waited for the beginning before I joined in.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," I rasped out, my voice quiet and broken from days upon days of misuse, but I looked up and my eyes met Carra's. She was smiling softly, a hand pressed to her lips; her eyes were shining. "You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away…"

I tossed the rabbit away from me as the song continued, pressing both hands to my eyes as the tears poured forth once again.

Music had been my quieting agent for weeks now, something that helped me stay numb. Now it had reminded me that I was not alone, and though I should not be, I was loved.

The words my mother said to me at the airport still rung around my head often, almost as often as my last conversation with Jack did. She was sorry. I was sorry. She reached out. I didn't know whether I would accept her apology or not. Even if I did accept it, nothing between us would ever be the same.

Exhaustion crept over my bones, and I pushed away the rabbit, and stood.

Carra stood with me, worry creeping over her face. She looked aged, older in her concern. "Clementine…what happened with your friend Jack…you can't keep blaming yourself. You're…strangling yourself." She looked at me, hands raised imploringly. "Please…get some help for yourself. Get a therapist. Or maybe join an AA group, because you mentioned how afraid you are you'll start drinking again…please," she whispered, lowering her hands and wringing her wrists, "don't just sit here and let yourself waste away."

I nodded, forcing a smile, although it felt entirely dishonest; I couldn't afford a therapist, and I had no intention of looking into joining an AA group. But she looked relieved, which made me feel a little better, despite the circumstances.

Carra watched as I shambled into my bedroom. As I crawled into my bed, pulling my quilt over me, I heard the soft click of the door leading to the bookstore closing.

For the first time since sitting out in the cold, the nightmares came back. They were all similar to each other; Jack was always there, taunting me, calling me names. He never said most of it to me when he was alive, but I had always imagined they were in his thoughts leading up to the accident. Thus, they haunted my sleep.

But I didn't try to numb the pain; I embraced it, felt it, remembered that I was alive, and he was not. My thinking from earlier came back: the pain reminded me that I owed it to Jack, to my family, to stay here.

I laid awake, staring up at the ceiling, and thought for a long time about Jack. I thought for a long time about my family; Jamie, her kids, even my mom. I thought about the friends I had ignored since Jack's accident, and how I should get back into contact with them.

I was alive, I realized. Alive. It was such a strange word. Alive, but living half a life, a shadow of one. I realized it. But the energy to do anything beyond realization was nonexistent.

It was a start, at any rate.

I hadn't heard from Niall since the time he had dropped me off and had come upstairs to chat. Well, I had received numerous texts from him, but I had never read them, and at some point, I had stopped receiving them. I assumed he had just moved on with his popstar life, and while I wished that I could still be his friend, I knew that it would be better for him if he forgot me. There would be less pain involved that way.

I continued to believe that, until the day came where he tried to break down my damned front door.

A loud pounding on the door startled me awake. I sat up, alert, and swayed as the blood rushed through my head. "Clementine! Open up, would ya? I know you're in there! I see your bike downstairs!"

My eyes widened at the impossibly loud, rough voice that sounded throughout my apartment. I would know that deep, rumbling voice anywhere. The knocking on my door continued after a pause, and I slowly stood on unsteady legs before shuffling to the door.

"Niall!" I called out, my voice raspy and thick from a continued lack of use, "stop that!"

There was silence on the other side of the door, and then a heavy sigh of relief. "Jesus, Clem, you sure scared me shitless."

I frowned and knit my brows. "I…I can't unlock the door. I can't reach the bolt. Go around through the bookstore, and Carra will let you in." I didn't have the strength to push the loveseat over and take out the bolt.

It was quiet on the other side, but then I heard a muttered "okay" and his big, heavy steps clambering down the stairs. I breathed out a sigh of my own and meandered back to my seat, waiting for him to come up through the inner stairwell.

It took him a few minutes apparently; maybe he stopped and chatted with Carra before coming up. That was okay with me. It helped me realize that I looked awful once again, and accept it. Before too long, I heard his heavy knock on the door, a clear contrast with his earlier pounding. "Can I come in?"

I nodded before realizing he couldn't see it. "Yeah, come on in." I fingered the blanket draped around my body, eyes on the ground, as the door opened and closed softly. I didn't want to look up at the man I had virtually ignored for the past weeks. I wasn't necessarily proud of it, but I wasn't proud of that time period in general. And I still wasn't out of it yet.

"You look like shit."

The comment startled me enough to look up at him, fingers stilling on the soft fabric of the blanket. Niall was standing by the door, leaning back against it, his heavy coat already slung over his arm. He was clad in a jade green, soft knit sweater, and dark sweatpants. It was too cold for jeans. His hair wasn't gelled; it was soft, curling at the tops. I looked up at his face to see his blue eyes piercing right through me, roving up and down my blanketed mess, seeing the dark bags under my eyes, the pale skin, the messy bun filled with lank, greasy hair.

I wasn't proud.

"Yeah, well, par for the course." I mumbled, eyes dropping back down to my lap. It was almost a relief to hear, though; Carra and Nathan tiptoed on eggshells around me, even as they checked my side for more scratches and the front door for tampering. This practical stranger telling me how bad I looked was like a bucket of cold water to the face – it hurt a little, but it was necessary.

Niall stayed against the door, head tilted slightly to the side. "When was the last time you ate?"

I did not want to answer that question. Swallowing, I felt my fingers lightly jitter against the blanket once more. "I was just thinking about making pancakes. Want some?"

He didn't question my choice, despite the fact that it was nearly two in the afternoon. I forced myself off the loveseat, swaying a second on my feet before leading the way to my tiny kitchen. I could feel Niall's eyes on me, looking me up and down; I was only in a tank top and small pajama shorts, but I knew he wasn't looking in _that_ way. He was looking at me the way a doctor would as he attempted to diagnose a patient.

I grabbed the box mix I had for pancakes, and glanced at Niall. "Go grab some of my chocolate from the fridge and chop it up into small chunks. Cutting board is on top of the fridge, knives are in the drawer next to it." He surveyed me for a second longer and then nodded, a sharp dip of his head, and set about doing what I asked. I started mixing up the pancake batter.

"Why are you here?" I asked after a minute of quiet, which was broken only by the sound of Niall's knife dutifully chopping up some of the Hershey's Kisses I kept in my fridge.

"Your…landlady, Carra, told me some of the stuff you were goin' through." At my wide-eyed, horrified glance, he rushed on. "Nothin' that happened, just that you were havin' a tough time and you had a…bit of a breakdown."

The words stung, although they were true. I did have a breakdown; I was coming out of the tail-end of it now. My chest was still tight, a huge knot in the center of a gaping, bloodless wound. But I would no longer attempt to numb myself to the pain. I would face the unbearable and bare it, even if baring it was all I could do. "I did."

He was quiet for a moment. "And…I don't like seein' me friends hurt."

I turned to look at him then, spatula in hand, eyes narrowed. "We barely know each other."

Niall looked back up at me, setting the knife down and nudging the cutting board towards me. I broke eye contact first, shifting away to grab my ladle and pour some of the mix into the center of the pan, and then sprinkled some of the chocolate into the batter, all around it.

I heard his sigh, watching out of the corner of his eye as he rubbed at the back of his neck and stared ahead. Then he swiveled around to face me and grinned broadly. "Well, Clem, you seem like a person to need friends, so we're gonna get to know each other."

"I don't need pity friends," I snapped, my nonexistent hackles raising.

Niall held up his hands. "That's…not how I meant it. I meant, like…Jesus, shit," he huffed, frowning a bit, "that I want to be your friend, so you're gonna have to get used t' me."

I nodded slowly, chewing steadily on my lip, like I was attempting to break through the skin. "Why do you want to be my friend?" I whispered softly, staring down at the pan as I sloppily flipped a pancake, scattering dough across the pan. It was a good question. Why would anyone want to be friends with an obviously broken, obviously damaged girl?

He took a long time to answer that, which was fine with me, as it meant that he was thinking hard about his answer. "Because," he finally ventured as I flipped the pancake onto a plate and started the process over again, "you're one of the first people I've met that loves music so much and understands it and isn't caught up in the industry. I feel like I can talk with you, and ya won't sell me out to the paps. I like your laugh, too, and how you talk. I just like you." Niall nudged his chin up then, staring steadily at me with his blue eyes cutting through me. "You're interestin'. And, of course, I'm a friendly guy."

I smiled to myself as he chuckled deep from his chest. I hummed softly to myself, racking my brain for what to say to all of what he had just admitted to me.

"Want to hear a confession?"

"'Course."

"I'm a shit cook," I admitted as I flipped over a pancake, revealing its burned underside.

After Niall took over the cooking, everything went a lot more smoothly. I mulled over his words in my head, considering them. I could have shooed him out of my apartment. I could have asked him to leave, kicked him out, yelled at him, hurt him; but I didn't want to. There was a slight urge within me to make him go though, to spare him the pain I would surely cause.

I was starting to think that maybe I wouldn't hurt him after all though.

After eating some decidedly delicious box-mix pancakes, Niall and I wound up on the loveseat together, as there was little else to do.

"Favorite movie?" he asked, lips curved up in a slight smile.

I didn't even have to think about it. " _The Judge_ , with Robert Downey Jr."

"Never seen it."

"It's a brilliant fucking movie. I love everything that man is in."

"So I take it that you're on Team Iron Man?"

"Captain America is killed in the comics…just saying."

Niall blinked at me. "Isn't everyone supposed to support Captain America though? All patriotic and shit?"

I stared at him. "I'm on Tony's side. End of story." I related to the fictional character of Tony Stark; from the nightmares to the alcohol problems at the beginning of the franchise. Even the constant sarcasm he spewed was something I related to.

So, really it was no contest.

"I don't have a DVD player here, and my laptop won't take discs, but at some point, I'll show you _The Judge_."

Niall looked carefully at me, tip of his tongue jutting out the edge of his lip. His eyes flicked from my eyes down to his lap, back and forth. "Maybe, next time I come over…I'll bring me laptop and we can watch it together."

I leaned back in my seat. Watching a movie on a laptop, leaning close to the other to be able to see the screen…it felt intimate. Way too intimate for barely-friends. But Niall was also determined to be my friend; he was looking at me so hopefully that to say no would be like kicking a stray puppy.

And it was my favorite movie of all time, so…"Yeah, alright, I've got the movie in my room. We'll watch it." I decided.

Niall nodded and gave me a lazy grin. "Maybe we'll watch something new every time I come over."

I raised my brows. "How often do you plan on coming over to my apartment? Don't you work, writing songs and traveling the world?"

Niall leaned back against the sofa, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling. "I was in America for a bit before Christmas, but me Mum lives in Edgeworthstown with her husband, a bit north of here, and me Da lives in Dublin. But I was raised here in Mullingar after me and me brother moved in with me Da when they divorced, so I bought a flat here to go back and forth visitin'. And I like it here. The locals know me, don't cause much of a fuss about me being here."

I smiled softly to myself. "So you sound like a family guy. You visit your parents often?"

Niall nodded enthusiastically, a broad smile spreading across his cheeks. "When I'm not going about the world, I try to visit 'em once every few months. Now that the band's on break, I get more time to do it, in between recordin' and such."

I was in a bit of spell, watching him talk. He spoke loudly, confidently, and moved his hands vividly with everything he said. It was obvious that Niall loved his life; he was cheerful about it all, loved his parents, his work, everything. It was a beautiful sight. I had never seen someone so delighted with the world and every opportunity that came with it.

I bit my lip. "I know that…the band is on a break. How long is that going to last?" I had seen a bit of information on One Direction's hiatus on the Internet. I knew little about it though; it felt weird to research something when I could directly ask the person.

Niall lifted a shoulder. "We're all kinda doin' our own thing at the moment. But when we've all done what we want, I suspect the band will come back for a time. But ya never know. We all keep in contact, over text and such."

I wanted him to keep talking. Niall had an incredible voice, even while talking. It was deep and smooth and rich, rumbling out from his chest. I found the accent I had steadily been growing used to endearing, noticed how it grew rougher in certain areas where he got excited over the topic and steadily grew louder. Never before had I just been so into someone's _voice_ – this was a first for me.

I cleared my throat, just to give myself time to think of another question, anything to keep him talking, and anything to avoid the conversation about my mental health. That _had_ to be why he came over, to check on me. I was sure he wanted to talk about it, ask what was going on, but we were virtual strangers, so I would avoid those questions with everything I had.

"That's nice that you guys all talk with each other." I said lamely, but noticed as his eyes lit up, sparkling like blue gems in the light cast through the window. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees, turned toward me slightly.

Niall grinned lightly, shaking his head and running his fingers through his shaggy hair. I felt the strangest urge to lean forward and push it off of his forehead, but that would definitely be weird, so I resisted the temptation. "Yeah, I'm gonna go see Liam in London in February or March, see how he's doin' with his girlfriend and the music he's been workin' on. I've got a house in London, since that's where I spend most of me time."

My heart dropped when he said that. Despite this being only the second time we'd hung out, I was growing a used to his presence. I didn't want him to go back to London; this was a newly built friendship, and I wanted it to last. Gone were my earlier qualms about hurting him. I didn't want to be alone. It was so easy to be happy around Niall; it leached off of him, it was an aura surrounding him, and it was simple to latch on to.

"Oh." I said, unsure of what else to say to him about that. "Well…I've never been to London. Is it nice?"

Niall looked at me, his serious eyes steady on mine while a gentle smile curved his lips up. "It's the best place in the world."

I could feel my heart beating in my chest. "Really?"

Niall snorted. "When it's not pissin' rain."

"What a nice place," I deadpanned.

Niall let out a loud laugh, reaching over to nudge me with his elbow. When I gave him an offended look, he tipped his head back and cackled, for what seemed to me like no reason at all. And when he caught my eye again as his laugh wore down, he erupted into giggles all over again. "You're such a fuckin' riot, Clem. No one ever looks at me like that unless it's one of the guys, or even really _talks_ to me like that."

I let out a bark of a laugh, shaking my head. "Jesus, they must treat you like a god."

Niall glanced at me, and our eyes met. "You have no fuckin' idea, really." He said before we started laughing once again, just to laugh and be happy, glorious for the moment.

The wound in my chest wasn't hurting at all.

After our laughter wore down, I glanced at him. "You know, I never really listened to your band, or whatever music you personally have out now."

Niall waved a big hand. "Doesn't matter. It's actually kind of nice."

"In what way?" I asked, knitting my brows.

"You're not practically fainting in my presence like a lot of women do."

I sighed deeply. "I get it – you're a popstar. Stop rubbing all the fame and fortune in my face." I stuck my tongue out at him.

Niall snorted before getting up. "'M gonna get meself some water." He stated and I directed him to where the cups in my cupboard were, and the water jug in the fridge.

"You know, my friend Elise listened to you guys a lot," I commented thoughtfully as Niall meandered his way back over. I hadn't thought about Elise in a long, long time. She was back in Florida, and we hadn't really talked since Jack. The police had interviewed us separately, but we had shared the pain together briefly, before I cut contact and drank myself into oblivion. Then I moved here, and still had not thought of her, so buried deep in pain that I was. Elise would only bring back memories, and memories were pain. "She loved you guys. She wanted me to go with her to see you guys in Tampa in 2014, I believe," I continued, thinking deeply, "but I had a test the next day, so I skipped out. Imagine if I had gone, and we were still here today.

"Hmm," Niall hummed softly, looking at me over the rim of his cup. "Imagine if indeed."

Soon enough, it was late, and I was feeling lighter than I had in days. It was crazy how just one person being in my life made me so much happier, even if it was just for a day. "Thank you for stopping by," I whispered hoarsely, looking down at the floor. I was unused to admitting how I was feeling so often, so deeply. "It really picked me up."

When I looked up, Niall's eyes were soft, his lips parted slightly, as if he was going to say something. It took him a minute, but he finally did. "You're an incredible musician, Clem. I would do anything to make sure you played again."

I started. "How did you know I haven't been playing?"

Niall grimaced, the first seriously uncomfortable expression I had seen him make. "I know you haven't been goin' to work, and Carra told me she hadn't heard ya playin' in a long time."

I scrunched my face up. "Haven't had the energy for it, to be perfectly honest." It was true. For weeks, I had merely sat on the sofa and stared ahead. Standing up, walking, moving at all drained me significantly. I couldn't even imagine playing my trumpet, something that would require focus and air.

"Well, you'll get to it. I'll be keepin' in contact. Bring me laptop over next time," Niall assured me, and I stood to see him out. I walked him to the door down to the shop, and he did something that totally stunned me: at the door, he leaned down and wrapped me in a hug. His arms squeezed me gently as I slowly reciprocated, wrapping my arms around his torso. He was incredibly warm, and soft in a way I had not expected. I could hear my heart beating frantically in my chest. Surely he could hear it too.

"I'll be seein' ya, Clem," Niall muttered next to my ear, his breath fanning out gently, and it was all I could do to not beg him to stay, to not shudder and lean into his warmth. Something pooled inside me, something I hadn't felt in a long time – want. Desire. I wanted to hold onto him and never let go.

What was wrong with me?

I pulled back and smiled at him tremulously. "Likewise," I whispered, knowing straight away that Niall could see the pink stained on my cheeks.

Niall winked at me, a quick twitch, and sauntered down the stairs, shutting the door firmly behind him.

I slowly, firmly shook my head to myself. What a man. A man that would likely get me into trouble, if things continued on like this.

I was already aware that Niall was the unaware catalyst in my life; once I met him, everything started changing once again. It seemed that by mentioning Elise briefly in a conversation after months of silence between the two of us, she was fated to come into my life once again.

The sharp trill of my phone woke me up, and I shifted on my bed, under my mountain of blankets and pillows. I rubbed bleary eyes as I sat up, and glanced over at my phone. Someone was calling me through FaceTime.

I started when I saw the name across the top half of my screen. I had been expecting two sleepy kids calling me to pester me, now that they were allowed to call. Instead, I got someone else.

Although the light made my eyes water, I accepted the call, squinting at my phone in the darkness. Shapes blurred on my screen, and I fumbled for the lamp switch before finally managing to turn it on. Light flooded my room, chasing away the darkness of the pre-dawn morning.

On my screen was Elise, curly brunette hair messy, rosy cheeks lined with mascara-stained tears.

"Clementine," she whispered, her voice a faint gasp. She sounded surprised; she had not expected me to answer her call.

"Elise," I replied in a measured tone, attempting to study her more through the phone. Her brown, delicate doe-eyes were rimmed in red and puffy. "What's going on?"

It seemed like a lame question for the situation, but there were so many words unspoken between the two of us, so many months of avoidance, that I had absolutely no idea what to say to her. Elise had been one of my best friends, like Jack, once upon a time. Now, I was a wraith of the person I had been, and Elise was a tear-stained wreck.

Her tears were not unusual to me, almost something I expected; she cried a lot in the wake of Jack. While I drowned in waves upon waves of alcohol, Elise cried in her room.

All in all, it appeared that she had handled Jack's death healthier than I had, and it didn't appear that she had developed the same occasional tendencies that I had.

"I…," Elise started, her voice stuttering, "Something happened, Clem, bad, bad." As she spoke, her normally light Russian accent thickened. Her parents were Russian immigrants; both of them spoke English heavily, although fluently, and she naturally picked up the same flow to her words. "I do not know what to do."

"Start from the beginning," I suggested gently, biting down on my lip.

Her sniffle resounded through my speakers as a crackle of static. I watched as her movements froze and unfroze, the connection bad from the thousands of miles between us. Still, I could see her as she daintily dabbed at her eyes. Even in tears, Elise was a lady, the way her mother had raised her to be.

"Tommy," she whispered, and her voice broke on the name. I didn't know him. "Tommy, my boyfriend. We are…were together. In…all aspects," her voice dropped, and I winced in sympathy. Obviously, Elise had lost her virginity to this man, and she had liked him deeply, if not loved him. Elise had always treated her virginity like a precious gem, while I had been more blasé about my own. And she was proper: she didn't believe in waiting until marriage necessarily, though her mother did, but believed in waiting until love.

She hadn't found it yet when I left.

"And?" I prompted gently, already feeling the tightness in my chest squeeze harder.

"And…and," her lower lip trembled as her eyes watered anew, "and the condom broke! Now I am…I am…pregnant."

I had expected a heartbreaking tale of a first love gone awry, something I was accustomed to, something that had been a part of my own life, something I could _help_. But this…this was not what I had expected at all. Prim, proper Elise, pregnant before marriage. Her mother would have a conniption.

"How do you know?" I asked, breaking through her lapse into silent tears. "You took tests, right?"

Her dark head nodded feverishly. "Five tests. All positive. I have been puking up my food for days. My mama…she thinks that I am sick with the flu. I am not, though. I told Tommy and he, he does not know what to do. He does not know if he wants it. _I_ do not know if I want it," Elise's eyes welled once more, and I could see the pleading written across her face, begging for understanding. "He said he wanted to think about it. Like that is a thing to do!"

I pressed my lips together, chewing lightly on the bottom one. "Elise…whatever you do, I will support you," I said carefully, watching her darkened form in the phone. It must have been very late in Florida, around midnight or later. The darkness of her room looked absolute, and weighed heavily on her thin shoulders. "And it is your choice, whether you keep it or not."

"How do I tell Mama?" she whispered, voice bordering on frantic. "She will…she will turn me out, or make me get rid of it, even if I decide I do not want that." Elise stared at me through the thousands of miles separating us. Her face was the same shade of white that picked-clean bones were. She looked so frightened, and so tired. "What do I do, Clementine?"

"You tell her the truth," I answered after thinking briefly about it. "Because she loves you. And if she makes you leave, she will regret it."

"I have already made many mistakes," Elise bitterly recalled. "A college drop-out. Living with her parents at the age of twenty three. Pregnant, now, perhaps without a father for the baby. No steady job," she listed, voice rising with each phrase. "What a disappointment I am."

"No," I said, forcing my voice to sound steady instead of wavering. She needed strength, even if it was not her own. "Not a disappointment. You are the evidence of a life being lived, Elise. Mistakes happen. Problems go unsolved. But all of that, all of it, is evidence that you've truly lived your life to the best you could. And your life will continue to go on, despite whatever happens. The world will keep turning, Elise," I breathed out, feeling a fire light and blaze in my gut.

Elise smiled, her pretty, pink lips curving up just slightly. "When did you get so wise?" Elise whispered, her timid voice shaking just a bit.

"Since my life fell out beneath my feet, and the world just kept on spinning."


End file.
